


Star Bright

by veronamay



Category: Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Drunkenness, Early Work, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-21
Updated: 2003-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um. Fitz gets drunk, and the Doctor gets twinkly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Bright

**Author's Note:**

> To [](http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/profile)[**charliequinn**](http://charliequinn.livejournal.com/) for a speedy and gratifyingly minimal beta. :-)

Fitz was, he decided, pissed off his face.

He wasn't normally in this state when he got drunk. His acquaintance with a certain prim female -- namely Anji -- usually kept him toeing the line of decency. Tonight, however, Anji wasn't around, so she couldn't stop him from drinking himself into oblivion. Fitz decided to enjoy it while he could.

The Doctor could probably shame him into sobriety, he thought, but that august being showed no sign of doing so. In fact, he more than a bit looked like he wanted to join Fitz in his protected fluffy cushion of ineb-- inbre-- drunkenness. Fitz decided that was okay with him; there was room for the Doctor to come inside his cushion if he wanted. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for the Doctor, so giving him a fluffy cushiony drunk place made perfect sense.

"Hm?" The Doctor looked up. His face turned first quizzical and then faintly amused as he looked Fitz over from head to foot. "Why thank you, Fitz. I don't think I've ever had an offer quite like that before."

"Offer?" Fitz repeated. He was confused. Oh -- he must be doing the think-out-loud thing again. He did that sometimes.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," the Doctor agreed. His eyes were twinkling. He had nice eyes.

Fitz poured himself another drink and tried to clink it against the Doctor's glass of brandy. His glass swerved away in a manner that suggested it was too hip to hob-nob with a brandy snifter. Fitz brought the offending glass close to his face in order to chastise it, but caught the scent of good vodka that some kind soul had poured  
into it, and drank that instead.

"Fitz," the Doctor was saying over and over. "Fitz! Are you all right?"

"'Course," Fitz mumbled. He was happily pissed, wasn't he? Why wasn't the Doctor twinkling anymore? He should always twinkle.

"Well, I'm not a star, for one thing," the Doctor replied comfortably. "Though strictly speaking, stars don't twinkle anyway -- that's caused by the movement of the layers of air in the planet's atmosphere, which affects the way we -- well, you -- interpret the  
movement of the light."

Fitz wondered what the hell the Doctor was on about.

"You asked me about twinkling," the Doctor said. "Though I've no idea why." He was smiling as he said it, and he started to hum `Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' under his breath, so Fitz was reassured that everything was all right. Not that it wouldn't be. Well, for a while at least.

"For a while?" The Doctor was suddenly anxious. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Fitz waved a hand expansively. He didn't want to talk about that whole disaster thing now. "Stop reading my mind, would you?" He tried to sound irritated, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Stop broadcasting it to the entire pub and I might try," the Doctor muttered back. Fitz felt affronted by that.

"Not my fault," he stated clearly -- to himself, anyway. "It's like a priest."

"What's like a priest?" Now the Doctor sounded patient. Fitz hated the patient voice. It made him feel like a -- well, a patient. With a doctor.

"You are," he said, and nodded to prove it. "Confessions of a misfit. Can't help it -- Mum always said I was a chatty drunk." He frowned. "Dunno how she knew, though."

"Right. I'm a priest?" The Doctor looked at his reflection in the mirror over the bar and frowned. "I don't really like those collars -- so restrictive."

"No sex!" Fitz thumped the bar decisively, narrowly missing his vodka. Everyone turned to look at him, like those westerns where the bad guy came into the bar and the piano player took refuge and everyone went still. "What?" he said belligerently, staring round. "Never seen a pissed Englishman before?"

The Doctor put a hand on his arm. "All right," he said, "I think that'll do. Time for bed." He stood up and drew Fitz's arm across his shoulders. Fitz stumbled toward the door, wishing it would stand still.

"Bed?" he said suddenly as they made their way to the TARDIS. The Doctor tightened his grip as Fitz slipped in a puddle of rainwater.

"Bed," he replied. "And quietly, so you don't wake Anji."

"Can't go to bed." Fitz stopped walking and glared. "You're a priest."

"What?" The Doctor looked bewildered, and Fitz laughed in glee. Didn't see that very often!

"Priest," he repeated, just for the fun of it. "That means no sex. Get it?" And he went off again, ignoring the Doctor's sudden stillness and the edge of bitterness in his own hilarity.

"Oh, Fitz," the Doctor sighed, and hitched him upright again. "You silly man."

Fitz begged to differ. "Am not," he argued. "Still here, aren't I?" But that didn't even make sense to himself, so he let it go and went along quietly.

The Doctor steered him along the TARDIS's corridors until they reached his bedroom. Fitz fell across his bed with a moan of contentment and hugged a pillow to his chest.

"Star light, star bright..." He stretched out his toes and wiggled them. "Do priests kiss?" he mumbled, already half-asleep. The Doctor paused on the threshold.

"Sometimes," came his soft reply.

Fitz rolled over and looked at him. He stifled a yawn. The Doctor seemed to be stuck between two places. Silly -- he was a time traveller; he _couldn't_ get stuck. "Do you get stuck?" Fitz asked. "Between places, I mean?"

The Doctor's eyes weren't twinkling again. But they were shining, very brightly. "Sometimes," he said again. "Sometimes all I need is a nudge to get me going to the right place."

Fitz waggled his eyebrows because it usually made the Doctor smile. He had to use his hands. "I'm going to be miserable in the morning," he told his pillow. "Doctor?"

"Yes, Fitz?" The Doctor was motionless, caught in the middle of the doorway.

"You're not twinkling."

"No, I'm not."

"That's all right. You can twinkle some other time. I don't mind."

The Doctor smiled. "Thanks." He looked a bit sad.

"G'night, Doctor." Fitz snuggled into his bed.

"Good night." The Doctor turned to go.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?" He turned back. Fitz sat up and looked at him, feeling very strange.

"You're not a priest." It wasn't a question.

"No, Fitz." The Doctor took a small step. "I'm not."

Fitz saw a small twinkle in his eyes and smiled. "Oh, good."

**END**


End file.
